


Mannahatta

by theheadandthekin



Series: The Land of the Living 'Verse [2]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, New York City, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10204268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: Abbie and Crane take a trip into the city; prequel to "The Land of the Living"





	

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Post-Tempus Fugit.

_A million people—manners free and superb—_

 Walt Whitman, "Mannahatta"

* * *

 "The city has changed a little since my day."

"You think?"

"Why, of--oh, I see." He pretended to look affronted at her sarcastic response. It didn’t really work; they’d been teasing one another since she’d gone to pick him up from the cabin and he’d appeared on the porch in billowy shirtsleeves, breeches, boots, the whole nine yards … and sunglasses. The day was supposed to be warm and he’d foregone his coat, so the damn Ray-Bans shifted his whole _thing_ from lost colonial re-enactor to total hipster douchebag.

It took Abbie _way_ longer than it should have to compose herself enough to drive to the train station.

And he’d come up with plenty of ways to needle her back, even daring to make not one but _two_ short-person jokes.

Nope, they weren’t being flirtatious. Definitely not. They were just BFF Apocalypse buddies, going to hang out in the city together.

Yep. No flirting. No heat where his hand landed on her back to guide her into the subway car. No reason they were pressed together in their seats beyond the space constraints of public transit.

“Wasn’t much here at all back then, right?”

“This was all countryside. The settlement of New York clung to the very southern tip of the island.” He glanced at the map on the opposite side of the car. “And that is where we are headed now, correct?”

She tapped her knee against his thigh. “Thought you’d want to see it before we headed into any dusty attics to hunt for old books. Also wanted to give you the perfect opportunity for any bottled-up rants about tourists, bankers, hot dog vendors ….”

“Ye of little faith.”

It was a Saturday morning, and the subway wasn't very crowded. A few groups of suburban teens, a couple of people in uniforms heading to midday shifts, moms with young kids, tourists, a guy with an oboe, a well-dressed woman trying to read large blueprints, two girls composing a rap, a few white folks their age _definitely_ headed across the river. Sometimes Crane was really weird about new experiences, but he took to riding the train like a fish to water and seemed remarkably unfazed by the bustle around them.

Possibly because, unlike in Sleepy Hollow, _he_ didn’t stick out.

Abbie knew the feeling.

"And, please, Lieutenant. You can at least pretend to be unsurprised that I'm not overwhelmed by a few people in a metal tube under the ground," he continued, seeming to read her thoughts.

“Whatever. I’ve seen you overwhelmed by a toaster.”

“I have learned since—ah, I believe that young woman is trying to take our photograph.”

She swiveled her head to catch a young woman holding up her phone, camera aimed at them.

“It happens.” She hummed. “People snap photos of subway riders all the time, put them online, make jokes about how crazy the city is or how guys manspread. It’s a thing. You’re good, by the way.”

“I shall take care of this.” He stood up abruptly. “And I do not ever _manspread_.”

 _Shit._ If he thought he was going to breach subway etiquette … “Crane, don’t.”

But he was already moving away across the car to _confront a random stranger_. She wanted to crawl under the seat, nasty floor be damned _._

His voice carried. “Excuse me, miss. May I inquire as to why you were photographing me and my companion with your cellular device?”

_Cellular device. Jesus._

“Oh, yeah!“ The pitch of a Southern California accent rose over the din of the car. Abbie sighed with relief. “I was trying to get a pic of your boots. They are _hella rad._ I’m a footwear designer! They’re custom, right?”

The subway jolted and Crane had to grab onto one of the poles. Abbie didn’t miss Little Miss Fashion School check out more than his boots.

Just as her partner leaned toward the woman, a huge guy who’d been sitting opposite them got up to stand near the door and blocked her view.

Thirty seconds later, Crane plopped back into the seat next to her, wriggling a bit before settling into shoulder-to-hip contact. How he managed to make it unscathed from his ridiculous social antics was beyond her.

“So. Got what you wanted?”

“Indeed.” The corners of his mouth lifted just a hair. “I allowed Miss Katie a better photograph of my boots in exchange for sending the image she made of us to me—and deleting it from her own device.”

“Wow, that’s one way to get a girl’s number.” She wasn’t going to explore why that made her uncomfortable. “Gotta say, you got game getting a woman on the subway to cough that up.”

She sat forward, pretending to count the number of stops left on the strip map—definitely not investigating her sudden, ugly feelings further.

Within seconds, her phone vibrated in her hand and she flipped it over to see a text from Crane. She was about to admonish him for sending a text when he could damn well just _speak,_ but the thumbnail image gave her pause. It was a screenshot.

He’d made the photo of them his lock screen.

If she didn’t know better—and she sure as hell did—she would have, well …

When she glanced back, he had his arm flung across the back of her seat and his sunglasses on.

“For all the wonders of modern technology and _data storage_ , we have precious few photographs of the two of us together.” He squared his shoulders. As if that explained _everything_.

Still, she knew—and he knew—one of those few pictures had saved her life only a month ago. What would Captain Crane have thought of a snapshot of them huddled together so casually on the subway?

Abbie just shook her head. “You look like an asshole.”

“And you—“

Whatever he was going to say was drown out by an ear-piercing combination of a sudden, high-pitched scream from a young boy two seats down and the brakes.

“ _What_?”

Rather than repeat himself, he settled a hand briefly between her shoulder blades. “I believe we’ve three stops to go.”


End file.
